


first it's all a reaction

by addandsubtract, ohtempora



Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M, Marking, Rimming, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen, Spanking, sex tears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:53:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16195136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/addandsubtract/pseuds/addandsubtract, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/pseuds/ohtempora
Summary: "This is gonna make me feel better," Bryce says. "I told you, I need you. That's the only thing that'll work."





	first it's all a reaction

**Author's Note:**

> on august 29th we saw bryce harper was sick, so: sex pollen.

Jayson stands outside Bryce’s door for a moment, taking a breath. Thinking. Bryce hasn't called all season. Jayson can't say he was expecting it today, but it doesn’t matter. When Bryce calls, Jayson answers — it’s always been that way, even before they were hooking up. He’d sounded wrong over the phone, on edge, and he’d told Jayson that he was sick, so now Jayson is here. He didn’t think about not showing up, despite how he let the silence sit just as much as Bryce had.  
  
The doorman let him up, because people in DC know Jayson, and also because he used to be here all the time. He’d gotten soup from the grocery store around the corner where he and Bryce used to occasionally grab premade sushi when they were too tired to cook. He doesn’t know exactly what’s wrong with Bryce. Bryce hadn’t said. Even for everything they didn't talk about between the two of them — the exact parameters of their relationship, retirement, the missed chance to win together — this is unusual.  
  
He knocks, then, and like Bryce was waiting just on the other side, the door flies open. Bryce looks wild,  sweaty and pink, hair everywhere. His eyes are so wide, and he pulls Jayson in with a hand tight around one wrist. The grip is tight enough to hurt. 

"You have the flu?" Jayson asks. "You didn't say on the phone." He hefts the bag in his hand. Bryce's pupils are dilated, when he takes a close look. "Dunno how hungry you are but I brought soup—"  
  
"No," Bryce says. His voice is raw, and Jayson frowns at him. Can't be good if he sounds like that, if he's been holing up in his apartment and avoiding the trainers. "I don't need soup."  
  
"You want some OJ?"  
  
They've made it to the kitchen, Bryce dragging him. Jayson's not gonna say anything yet but Bryce's grip really hurts. He drops the soup into the fridge, and turns out just in time, because Bryce is on him, pressing their mouths together, bullying him into a kiss.  
  
"You're _sick_ ," Jayson starts to say, tries to get the words out. The kiss shouldn't leave his fingers tingling. He's kissed Bryce before, in this very kitchen, in this very spot, and for how good it was between them it's never given him pins and needles, never made his stomach curl like this.

Bryce’s hands are restless, tugging at Jayson’s hair, cupping the back of his neck, tugging at his shirt to get at skin. The kiss is harsh, all teeth and tongue, but somehow it’s still the best they’ve every shared. Jayson’s heart is beating faster already, the heat spreading through his chest and belly. He’s getting hard in his sweatpants.  
  
He manages to pull away and push Bryce back against the counter. Bryce is so red, mouth and cheeks and neck. He struggles, trying to get back in, kiss Jayson again, and Jayson wants to let him.  
  
“What the fuck,” Jayson says.  
  
Bryce surges forward again, and Jayson only just manages to hold him back. "Please, I need you.”  
  
“Bryce,” Jayson starts, trying to get a hold on himself, on this whole situation, but Bryce shifts his weight and  flips their positions, kissing Jayson again.

Jayson kisses him back — how could he not, it's been so long — and it feels good. He doesn't want to tear his lips away, not when Bryce is hot against him, burning up. Feverish, maybe. Because he's sick. Right.  
  
"Harp," he says, gets his hands on Bryce's shoulders and pushes back. "What's going on?"  
  
"This is gonna make me feel better," Bryce says. "I told you, I need you. That's the only thing that'll work."  
  
It sounds absurd. It also feels right. Jayson presses a hand to his own face, feels the flush under his palm. There's a heavy want low in his stomach; he doesn't know where it came from, but focusing on why they shouldn't be doing this — he doesn't know why they haven't been doing this for months.  
  
He can fix that, though, wraps his hand around the back of Bryce's neck and pulls him into another kiss.

The longer they kiss, the less Jayson wants to pull away and the more the need in him rises until all he can think about is touching Bryce, kissing him, fucking him. The kitchen counter is digging into the small of his back, and suddenly none of this is enough.  
  
He pushes Bryce away, just enough, and says, “Bed — bedroom, now.”  
  
Bryce nods and Jayson leans into to kiss him again — can’t help it — before dragging Bryce down the hall to where he knows the bedroom is. Otherwise they might just fuck on the kitchen floor.  
  
“Yeah, yes,” Bryce is saying, nearly unintelligible, against Jayson’s mouth.

The bedroom door is ajar, and Jayson shoulders it open. They practically fall through, tripping towards the bed. 

"Please,” Bryce says, and Jayson can't help the noise he makes, somewhere between a growl and a groan.

“Need me to fuck you,” he says, knows the rightness of it in his core.

Bryce is already shrugging off his button-down, plastering himself to Jayson, but when Jayson orders him onto the bed he goes. Jayson strips off his shirt — he's achingly hard — and looks down at Bryce, who's spread out for him, on his back and watching Jayson with hot eyes.

He’s still thinking, _what the hell_ , but he can’t stop himself from shoving his pants and underwear off and then striding over to where Bryce is lying on the bed and stripping the rest of the clothes off of him, too. All he wants is to touch Bryce, get his mouth on him and make him moan. He straddles Bryce, leans down and bites his collarbone.

Bryce’s hands come up, digging into the muscles of Jayson’s back with too much force, the kind of pressure that’ll bruise, but right now it feels good . Jayson gets hung up for a second trying to figure out if it’s more important to kiss Bryce or fuck him, but Bryce is just whining, writhing beneath him. If what he said before was true, he’s been like this way longer.

"You think you can go more than once?" Jayson asks, and the sound of his own voice surprises him, how rough it is.

"Yes." Bryce tangles a hand in his hair. "Please, Jay, you've gotta touch me." His hips tilt up and his dick skirts across Jayson's stomach, leaking and wet.

Jayson reaches down to jerk him off, unsurprised by the sharp noises he makes, but surprised by how quickly he comes, splattering Jayson’s hand and stomach. He stays hard after, shuddering all over, and Jayson needs. 

"Where’s your lube?” he asks, wiping the come on his hand across Bryce’s chest, tugging at his nipple.

"Drawer," Bryce says, gesturing. He's arching up into Jayson's touch, chewing his lower lip. Whatever made him like this isn’t at all satisfied.

It's not just Bryce anymore — the desire is contagious, and Jayson can’t stop himself from giving in..

"Hold yourself open," he says, and uncaps the lube. He’s too impatient to go slow, slicking up two fingers and sliding them into Bryce all at once.

"God,” Bryce says, on a shuddering exhale. He’s already loose and wet. He must have fingered himself open before giving in and calling Jayson. It wasn’t enough on his own. Jayson imagines him naked, legs spread, fingering himself and coming and then needing more. The thought makes him shiver, and he adds a third finger, listening to Bryce’s moans, watching how he tries to spread his legs further apart without moving his hands. 

"Fuck me,” Bryce says, mostly a moan. "Shit, Jay, fuck me.”

He's never asked like that before, even when they were hooking up. Wasn't shy about it, that he wanted Jayson, but Bryce didn't demand. Jayson rubs a hand over his dick, and then lines up and pushes in. 

Bryce groans, low, the sound punched out of him. Jayson looks down at where they're joined. How Bryce is stretched around him.

"Jay." Bryce is squirming, rocking his hips, trying for leverage.

"I’ve got you,” Jayson says, but he isn’t any less desperate than Bryce is. He pulls back and slams in, too impatient to give Bryce time to adjust. Bryce just moans, his legs wrapping around Jayson’s hips and trying to tug him in, like he could fuck Bryce any deeper.

Bryce slides up the bedspread with the force of Jayson’s thrusts, and Jayson wraps his hands around Bryce’s wrists, holding Bryce down while he fucks into him. Bryce’s dick is spitting precome onto his stomach and he’s flushed from neck to thighs. He twists his hands in Jayson’s grip but doesn’t try to get away. Jayson wants to eat him alive.

He dips his head down and sucks a mark into Bryce's neck, tasting sweat and salt under his tongue. Drags his mouth over Bryce's jaw until he finds his mouth. Ordinarily he'd worry he's fucking Bryce too hard, or they're going too fast, that it won't be good. That doesn't matter right now.

Jayson snaps his hips. It doesn't quench the heat inside him but it helps. Bryce is just moaning his name now, little stuttery sounds, his voice cracking.

"Come like this," Jayson says. "On my dick. Do it."

Bryce tries to speak, but he can’t seem to form real words, just moaning pants — "Ah, ah, ah,” — spilling out of his mouth as Jayson rocks into him. He’s so hot inside, tight and wet and Jayson wants more. He wants to get deeper, wants to come inside Bryce and then keep fucking him, again and again. He can’t imagine ever wanting to stop.

Bryce goes taut like a drum, mouth gasping open, hips working as he comes all over himself, dick twitching. He’s never come untouched before when they’ve fucked, and Jayson has never tried to make him do it.

"More,” Bryce says, and Jayson kisses him, rough and biting, too worked up to be kind.

"You're gonna come again," he says. "But me first." He's so close, almost there. Bryce's wrists are sweaty in his grip but Jayson has no plans of letting go. He snaps his hips hard, closes his eyes and comes in sharp pulses. It's so good, so needed. It doesn't quell the want in him. It's not enough.

Jayson kisses him again, bites his lower lip, mostly on accident. Lets go of Bryce's hands and says, "Turn over." 

Bryce does so, fingers scrabbling over the bedspread as he rushes to comply, and Jayson trails kisses down his sweat-slick spine. He reaches for Bryce's wrists again and squeezes. Jayson is sure he’ll be haunted by the noise Bryce makes when Jayson spreads his cheeks and licks over Bryce's hole, pushes his tongue inside, and tastes his own come. He tightens his grip on Bryce’s wrists, held in one hand, and shoves Bryce down onto the bed when he presses back for more.

There’s too much want in them — Jayson needs everything, all at once. He wants to fill Bryce up, he wants to come, he wants to ruin him. He sucks at Bryce’s rim, pushes his tongue back inside. 

Bryce says his name again, stuttering it out, and Jayson’s dick is still so hard, he can’t ignore it. He pulls back, scrapes his teeth over Bryce’s spine and shoulder blades, sucks a mark on the back of his neck. This time when he presses inside Bryce, he uses his weight to pin Bryce to the bed, holding him there.

"Don’t worry,” he says. “I'm gonna keep fucking you.”

"Good," Bryce says. "I'm. Good." He's rutting against the bed and Jayson warns him to stop, even if Jayson’s not sure he’ll will be able to manage it. He needs to be the one to do it, make Bryce tighten up around him when he comes again. He needs to push Bryce further than he’s been pushed before. 

He's wanted Bryce to need him before but he's never wanted to see if Bryce would cry, overwhelmed and oversensitive, and he wants it now.

"Don't come yet," he says, and mouths over the back of Bryce's neck, brings his hand up to push sweaty hair out of the way.

"I'm trying," Bryce says. "Jay, I'm trying."

Jayson moves his hips, but doesn’t bother to pull out much, just staying inside Bryce, rocking. He can tell by the way that Bryce whines that it’s not enough to make him come, but he likes having Bryce trapped underneath him. Feeling Bryce try for leverage and fail and have to rely on Jayson to give him what he needs is satisfying in a way Jayson doesn’t have words for. He sucks at Bryce’s neck and over the back of his shoulder, leaving bright red and purpling marks. If his head were clearer he’d know it was a bad idea but he doesn’t give a shit right now.

“Jayson, Jay, you have to — c’mon,” Bryce says, his voice cracking. Jayson hauls Bryce up, ass in the air, giving himself more leverage and keeping Bryce from rubbing off onto the bed. He wraps his hands around Bryce's hips and holds onto to him, wonders if there will be fingerprints there, Bryce marked up from head to toe. 

"Here you go," Jayson says, and starts fucking him hard, their hips slapping together. Normally an orgasm makes him tired, but he's full of energy. He slides his hand around and curls it around Bryce's dick, feels it blood-hot and heavy in his hand. Bryce hisses, and Jayson lets the force of their fucking get Bryce closer to the edge, even if he knows the friction won't be good enough.

He doesn't know what this is, why this is happening. Who cares. His hips slap against Bryce’s ass, making a soft smacking sound, and Bryce keeps trying for more, though there isn’t much more Jayson can give him. 

"Jay, please, I need to come,” Bryce whines. It's such a satisfying sound.

"You called me here, said I had to help you,” Jayson says, pushing Bryce’s face down into the bedspread. The change in angle seems to make it better for Bryce, who writhes, mouthing at the bed. "See, I'm helping.” He reaches back underneath Bryce, smears precome around the head of his dick. "You gonna be done after this?"

"No — I don't think — no." Bryce sounds surprised by his answer, but it's honest, Jayson can tell. He's probably going to be able to go again too.

He starts jerking Bryce off, timing it roughly with each thrust of his hips, Bryce folded up underneath him on his hands and knees, his moans muffled by the pillow. He smacks Bryce's ass, the sound loud and sharp; he does it again when it makes Bryce tighten up around him. 

Bryce comes right after that, spilling hot over Jayson's hand again, shivering under him. Jayson smacks Bryce again, just to hear the wounded, turned-on sound he makes and feel the way he tightens up again, even as he’s still shuddering through the aftershocks. There’s something delicious about it, about the way Bryce keeps pressing back into him, trying to take more.

Part of Jayson is cataloguing the marks he’s leaving — neck, back, hips, ass — and the rest of him is working his dick into Bryce, desperate to fill him up with more come. He slaps him a few more times, enjoying the way his skin pinks up, the way Bryce bites into the pillow and holds on, fingers twisting in the bedspread.

"You want it? Ready for me to come in you?” Jayson says, harsh breath panting out of him. 

Bryce moans something unintelligible, pinned like a butterfly in a case, on display for Jayson. It won’t take much for him to come again, and Jayson knows even that won’t be enough. 

That's okay. He's got nothing but time. Neither of them are going anywhere.

By now Bryce has got to be totally oversensitized, nerves shot, but he rocks back against Jayson until Jayson comes, the orgasm stronger and more dizzying than the first. He collapses forward, mouth open and skating over Bryce's shoulder.

He's still hard.

Carefully, he slips out, replaces his dick with his fingers to feel how Bryce is even wetter now, how he half-sobs when Jayson touches him, thumb slipping past his rim.

"You want more," he says, knows he's right, and hears Bryce murmur yes.

There’s so much he could do. He wants to see Bryce sob, feel it. He pushes his thumb out and spreads his fingers, stretching Bryce more. He’s so wet, lube and come seeping out around Jayson’s palm. Jayson wants him filthy, begging.

"Yes, but," Bryce says. "I don't — not just your hand." He squirms. 

"Tell me what you need." Jayson runs his thumb over Bryce's hole. "You want my dick again?"

"Yes." Bryce pushes back into Jayson's hand. "Please fuck me, please."

"Okay." Jayson can do that. He wants to see Bryce's face again, see how wrecked he is, how red. Hearing it isn't enough for him this time. He taps Bryce on the hip and shifts back. "Turn over."

Bryce does, and god, he looks just as good as Jayson hoped, his mouth bitten pink and eyes dark. 

"Look at you,” Jayson says, and slides his fingers back between Bryce’s legs and inside him, making him whine. 

"No, Jayson, please,” Bryce says. "I need it, please.”

"Shhhh,” Jayson says. "Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” He reaches out with his free hand and thumbs over Bryce’s nipple, pressing, and then pinches and rolls it between his fingertips. Bryce arches up into it, mouth gasping open.

Jayson takes that as a sign to keep going.

He leans and drags his tongue over Bryce's chest, soothes the sting away before pulling back, blowing a stream of cold air, watching it bead up. Wants to make Bryce feel everything, since Bryce is making him want so much.

"Ah," Bryce says, gasping, and Jayson presses his nail into the other nipple, watches it whiten and then turn a dark pink.

He's still got fingers inside Bryce and he crooks them up, just a reminder, that they're not done yet. 

It’s hard not to just slide in and start fucking him again — Jayson’s body is thrumming with how much he wants to — but he’s holding out. He’s holding back so he can listen to the way Bryce chokes back a moans when he leans in and scrapes his teeth over one nipple, free hand playing with the other. Bryce is pressing up with his chest, back with his hips, trying for more of everything.

Jayson bites harder, sucks, wanting Bryce bruised all over. He wants Bryce covered in marks, he wants Bryce to roll over tomorrow and wince at the ache. He spreads his fingers, presses his thumb against the rim of Bryce’s hole, and Bryce’s eyes are squeezed closer like he can’t look. He’s too overwhelmed.

"You want my dick again?" Jayson asks. He can feel his come inside Bryce, wonders how much more he can wring out of Bryce, if he'll come and come and never get tired. They're both still hard.

Bryce will have to walk into the Nats locker room for a game and no one's gonna know that it was Jayson who did this to him, but they'll all know what happened.

"Yeah," Bryce says, manages a nod. Jayson moves back, pushes Bryce's legs up. Bryce is so malleable right now. He'll go wherever Jayson makes him. 

Jayson has never had this kind of marathon sex. He can’t believe how easy it is to slide his dick into Bryce, already so wet with lube and come. Bryce covers his face with his arm and just pants, harsh.

"God, you’re a mess,” Jayson says, the glide making an obscene sucking noise. He thrusts harder, bending Bryce nearly in half to get more leverage. "Look at me. I wanna see your face.”

Bryce swallows, a hiccuping sob, and when he pulls his arm away from his eyes he looks wild, wide eyes rimmed red. “Jayson,” he says, voice hoarse. Jayson just picks up speed, reaches down to tug at Bryce’s nipple again. On every inch of Bryce he can see the imprints, the marks, how fully he's claimed him. He twists his hand in Bryce's hair and pulls him up so that they can kiss, hard, mouths scraping together.

He wonders if this is it — if this will sate the need that's burning him up inside. He tugs Bryce's head back so he can mouth over his pulse, bite his collarbone and nip at his throat. His own hair is falling sweaty in his face, and Jayson would push it back except for how he's too preoccupied to care.

Bryce is chanting his name, "Jay Jay Jay," but he's looking at Jayson the way Jayson told him to. His eyes are wide and dark, his mouth red and wet, and he looks more desperate even than when Jayson arrived. Jayson ruts into him harder, moving him against the bedspread, and Bryce just takes it.

"Gonna come soon? Think you can come on my dick again?” Jayson bites into Bryce’s mouth, his jaw, growls into the skin there, scraping with his teeth. Bryce tastes like sweat, and his dick is dripping steadily between the two of them. Jayson can see it when he looks down, precome shiny at the head. 

"Jay,” Bryce says again, plaintive, so needy, but Jayson can’t make it easy for him. He wants to see Bryce overwhelmed and shaking, wants to see him come apart at the seams. He can’t stop now, not when his body is screaming for him to keep fucking Bryce, to keep pressing him down into the bed, to keep taking him and fucking him up.

So he doesn't stop, the crazy heat overwhelming him, slamming into Bryce so hard he'd worry that Bryce will break. Or he should worry. Something in the back of his head is telling him that he should worry. 

Instead, he comes to the background chant of Bryce saying his name, gripping onto him too hard, hair swinging wildly around his face. Jayson pulses into him, stares at Bryce's mouth the whole time, can’t stop noticing how it's red and bitten up.

He slips out so easily once he's done, exhaustion creeping up his spine, but Bryce is still hard.

"I got you," Jayson says, and slides down the bed, mouths at his dick. Bryce keens, there’s no other word for it, hips flexing up until Jayson has to get a hand on him, hold him down. He hears Bryce sob for real when he sucks at the head, letting himself be sloppy about it before he sinks down.

Bryce’s noises sound wet, now, his moans and gasps. Jayson hopes he’s crying. He’s unconsciously trying to fuck up into Jayson’s mouth. Jayson resists long enough to hear Bryce whine and then relaxes his jaw, pressing in.

He sneaks his free hand down between Bryce’s legs, pressing fingers behind his balls, over the skin there and then back inside his hole, where he’s slick and dripping. Bryce’s hips work, abortive, but Jayson has a good grip on him, fingering him and swallowing around him.

"Please, Jay, please,” Bryce says, his voice breaking. He’s been begging like that for what seems like hours, now, and Jayson isn’t tired of hearing it, how hoarse he’s gotten.

Jayson bobs his head, presses his fingers inside with more force. He can hear Bryce crying. He wonders what this feels like for him. If he's as shattered apart as he sounds, if it hurts or if it's good, if it's both. 

He tongues around the head, sucks Bryce and slides one more finger in, figuring he'll be able to take everything, take all of it. Bryce doesn't have a ton of leverage but he isn't using it anyway, just reacting to everything Jayson is doing for him. 

Jayson listens to the small sobs — he shouldn't like it so much, that Bryce is making those sounds because of him. He presses up with his fingers again and Bryce comes with a long moan, spilling into Jayson's mouth, salt-bitter against his tongue.

Bryce collapses onto the bed like his strings have been cut and Jayson crawls up next to him. He doesn't need to fuck him with the same urgent need, but he needs to be close, needs skin on skin. He slings a heavy arm across Bryce's stomach and kisses his cheek, Bryce's beard scratching under his lips.

Bryce’s cheek tastes salty, and he might not have stopped crying but it’s slowed down to little sniffles, the aftermath of being pushed so far. He’s going to hurt tomorrow. Jayson can’t think far enough ahead to wonder what that will be like for either of them — they haven’t fucked in months and now this, and he can’t get over how Bryce called him, didn’t turn to  anyone else. 

Eventually, Bryce’s breathing evens out some, and he turns his face enough to kiss Jayson. It’s soft, tired, but affectionate. Jayson doesn’t know what else to to do but kiss him back.

"You got a game tomorrow?” Jayson asks. Bryce shrugs, which isn’t an answer, but Jayson doesn’t press. "Okay, well, either way you should sleep.” 

"Are you going to stay?" Bryce yawns, his jaw cracking. 

Of course Jayson is going to stay. He never left before — that was never a thing they did, and he's not about to start now, even with everything. What just happened between them.

"'Course," he says, doesn't add, "Unless you don't want me to," because he doesn't want to know the answer. 

Bryce nods and yawns again, and slips off into sleep.

Jayson thinks about cleaning up, but it's another issue they can put off until the morning. He waits until Bryce is curled up against him, broad back pressed to his chest, before he closes his eyes. 

When he wakes up, the first thing he realizes is how sore he is, and then how sticky. Bryce is still asleep, pressed up against him, warm and slightly sweaty. Even from this close Jayson can see how bruised up he is. On the one hand he can remember how desperate he felt to fuck Bryce, how much they both needed it, but on the other hand he doesn’t know why. He knows he feels better; he’s in control of himself now. None of the sex they had before was like that, even when it got rough.

Jayson lies there until Bryce starts to stir, and then he puts a hand on Bryce’s shoulder, shaking him lightly. Bryce groans, then makes a pained noise when he shifts. Jayson can only imagine how he feels.

"Morning," he says quietly. "You want water? Or — I can go check in the bathroom, get some cream, if you have anything."

Bryce opens his eyes and blinks, slow, before focusing on Jayson. "Water?" he asks, and then flushes. Everything is hitting him, it's written crystal clear across his face, and Jayson gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom.

When he looks at himself in the mirror he's not free of marks: he's got beard burn down his neck and chest, fingerprint bruises from when Bryce grabbed him and held on. There's a livid bite by his collarbone he doesn't remember getting.

An empty glass is sitting on the counter, so Jayson fills it up with tap water and rifles through the medicine cabinet. Bryce doesn’t have anything useful — the only ointment he has is lotion — but Jayson wants to give him some privacy. There are plenty of ways that Bryce could react, and Jayson wants him to have the time to think it over.

Jayson is sticky all over, but there’s a possibility that Bryce may need help showering, so he splashes some water on his face, takes a deep breath, and, after a few quiet moments, heads back into the bedroom.

Bryce has managed to get himself into a sitting position, and even from the doorway Jayson can see that he’s covered in bruises and scratches and bite marks. 

"Water,” Jayson says, and crosses the room to hand it to him.

"Thanks." Bryce takes it and drinks, chugging half the glass in one go. When he's done he clears his throat. He already sounds better, albeit hoarse.

Jayson wants to ask if he's okay — physically, emotionally, all of the above — if he has a game tonight. If he'll be able to play. Even though it isn't Jayson's place to be concerned anymore, now that he isn't a Nat. He doesn't ask. He sits on the edge of the bed instead, close enough that Bryce can reach out, far enough that Bryce still has some space. 

He wants to ask what came over them, too. If Bryce has any idea. Instead he watches Bryce drink his water, then watches him set his glass down on the bedside table. Finally he says, "If you don't wanna talk about anything — at the very least you should eat, after all that."

I remember it too, he's saying. 

Bryce shrugs, but Jayson can see him start to flush, pink across his cheeks and neck. Jayson isn’t sure if it’s embarrassment or shame or something completely different.

"Uh,” Bryce says, and rubs his hand over his face, scratching at his beard. "I should get cleaned up first.”

"Okay, sure.” Jayson wants to ask if he needs help. He’s not sure if he should, though. Bryce had been hands-off this season until he was too fucked up to hold back. It’s entirely possible that was intentional.

Bryce sighs, and, because in some ways he’s always been braver, says, "Look, I may need a hand.”

"Of course," Jayson says. He moves up so Bryce can sling an arm around his shoulder. Jayson hauls him up, and between the two of them they get Bryce to the bathroom. All the bruises are livid under the fluorescent lights. Jayson can't believe they're in the shape of his hands, his mouth. They both liked it so much.

He turns on the shower. Bryce gets in, and after a moment's hesitation Jayson does too. Bryce leans against the wall and closes his eyes.

"You wanna wash your hair too?" Jayson asks, gets a shrug in response. He reaches for the body wash and the loofah hanging off a hook, starts to scrub sweat and come off Bryce's stomach, careful to keep his touch light.

"You don't have to wash my hair for me."

Jayson watches water sluice over Bryce’s body. He ghosts a hand over one of the bite marks without thinking. Wanting that, what they did, feels like a dream. Not sex with Bryce — he’s wanted that, he’s done it — but the desperation, the desire to get inside Bryce and consume him, that’s not something he’s ever felt before in his life. It’s a wonder that neither of them are more seriously injured.  
  
Bryce doesn’t move into the touch or away from it, and Jayson doesn’t press. He does skate his fingers over the bruises on Bryce’s hips, and Bryce makes a noise that Jayson can’t interpret.  
  
"What was that?” Jayson asks. He doesn’t know how to ask it more subtly. He continues to scrub Bryce down, but carefully. He wonders if there are marks from him spanking Bryce, if he’s tender there too.  
  
"I don’t know,” Bryce says. He’s chewing on his lip, looking at Jayson’s hands.

Jayson keeps touching him. He's not gonna do anything Bryce doesn't want him to do.  
  
"You ask me to go home with you last season, we fuck, wasn't anything like that." He watches soap bubbles slide down Bryce's spine. "Even after game 5."  
  
He'd taken Bryce home that night. They were both too sad, full of wild adrenaline. Bryce came damn near to crying after, and Jayson would have understood it if he did. They got breakfast in the morning. It'd been the last time they were alone together until now. Jayson had thought it a fitting end, in the worst kind of way.  
  
"I needed — that. Like that. And you did too." Bryce blinks. "It went on for so long. I had to call you. Dunno why."

Jayson is glad Bryce didn’t call someone else, but he isn’t going to say so. Not unless Bryce asks him, anyway.  
  
"You had me worried, the way you sounded when you called.” He’d been hoarse already, desperate, though all Jayson knew was that Bryce needed help.  
  
"Felt like I was gonna die,” Bryce says, and sighs. Jayson gently turns him, but he still catches Bryce’s wince. He’ll be sore all day. Jayson isn’t sure how he’s going to play baseball, if he even will be able to.  
  
Jayson bends down, starts to move the loofah over Bryce’s thighs. He has the urge to kneel down and kiss the dip of Bryce’s hip but he swallows it back. He takes even more care with his hands here. Any slide Bryce takes into a base will hurt, even if he's careful.  
  
"I guess that doesn't explain how I got like that too."  
  
"I don't know. I didn't know." Bryce shrugs.  
  
Jayson wants to ask — would you have still called me, if you knew. He'd shown up at Bryce's door with soup. He went in blind.  
  
"I'm glad it stopped," he says. "If you were worried like that." 

"Felt good, though,” Bryce says. "I’ve never felt like that before.” He tilts his head back and lets the water slide over his face. Jayson knows that there’s probably traces of his come inside Bryce, but he isn’t sure how far he should go, getting Bryce clean, when Bryce seems so stiff.  
  
"Yeah, I know what you mean,” Jayson says. Then he figures it’s better just to ask. "How sore are you? From the fucking.”  
  
Bryce leans forward enough to open his eyes, look at Jayson. He’s amused, rueful. "Pretty sore. Why, you thinking about fucking me again?”  
  
"Just trying to make sure you’re okay,” Jayson says. It’s almost all of the truth. 

"I'm gonna feel it," Bryce says. "Might have to lean against the rail in the dugout during the next few games instead of sitting. We'll see." He seems less tense with Jayson's hands on him. Maybe it's that now he knows Jayson isn't scared off.  
  
Figuring this is permission enough, Jayson cleans the lube off Bryce's ass, the dried come. Bryce hisses, but he plants his legs apart and lets him, and when Jayson is done he says, "That's better."  
  
"Should probably eat something," Jayson says. He grabs Bryce's fancy shampoo and makes quick work of washing his own hair. "I don't know what you have in the fridge, but I brought soup over." 

Bryce laughs, soft. "I still can’t believe you did that.”  
  
"Yeah, and I managed to get it into the fridge before you tackled me,” Jayson says. He gives himself a quick rinse and then reaches over to turn off the water. He knows where Bryce keeps the towels — in the bathroom closet, like he did last season — so he grabs two, and hands one to Bryce. He manages to restrain himself from helping Bryce dry off until Bryce bends over to get his legs and visibly winces.  
  
"I can —“ he says, and wrapping his towel around his waist and reaching out to help. Bryce actually lets him without another word.  
  
Jayson borrows some sweats, and Bryce gingerly pulls in a pair of boxers. The bruises don’t look as bad in the sunlight coming in through the bedroom windows, but he’s really gonna get it from his teammates later.  
  
"Okay, food, c’mon,” Jayson says. 

It's weird to think of them as Bryce's teammates, and not their teammates. He figures he has a couple more months before it really goes away.  
  
"What, the leftover soup?"  
  
"Can't be leftover if we never got a chance to eat it." Jayson checks on the dresser for a hair tie and finds one, pulls his wet hair out of his face. He'll pick last night’s clothes up off the bedroom floor later.

They head toward the kitchen. Bryce sits in his chair gingerly, watches Jayson pull eggs and bacon out of the fridge. He pulls out the soup too, just to be a dick. A lot of their morning afters ended up like this, breakfast and then one of them driving the other to the park. Everything about it so easy.  
  
"I don't know why it happened like that," Bryce says. Jayson flips some butter into the pan, cracks an egg, and Bryce continues. "I tried jerking off, fingers. Nothing helped." 

The bacon is sizzling, but Jayson can hear Bryce just fine. He isn’t sure what to say. "I don’t know either,” he says, finally. "Maybe it had to be another person or something.”  
  
The whole idea is ridiculous — from it happening to begin with to being communicable via kissing to Bryce needing him there at all. It doesn’t make any sense.  
  
"Maybe,” Bryce says, but he sounds noncommittal. "I just knew I had to call you.”  
  
That’s its own thing. Or maybe not, maybe Bryce needed Jayson there because he’s Jayson. He’s not sure how he’s supposed to know.  
  
He flips the bacon, cracks another egg, sticks the soup in the microwave.

Bryce raises his eyebrows when the microwave beeps, but Jayson's committed to the soup now. Won't hurt. He piles eggs and bacon onto the plate too, then sticks it in front of Bryce.  
  
"Thanks," Bryce says, and starts shoveling food down. That much sex does take it out of you. Jayson inhales some bacon before he starts to talk again.  
  
"You knew you had to call me but you spent all season not calling me." He knows what it sounds like. He didn’t call Bryce either.  
  
"You were across the country," Bryce says, coloring under his beard. "And I couldn't hit to save my life." 

Jayson raises his eyebrows to show how highly he thinks of that excuse. Sure, he could’ve called Bryce too, but he doesn’t have nearly as much at stake at this point. It made sense to give Bryce space.  
  
"Haven’t been across the country in a while,” he says. He’s not touching the rest of it — he isn’t sure what he has to do with Bryce not hitting, unless he was embarrassed about his play, didn’t want to talk to someone who wasn’t the team.  
  
Bryce shrugs, slurping down broth. "Then it had been too long and I thought — I don’t know, it seemed weird to break the silence.”  
  
"Okay,” Jayson says. "Well, for the record, I wouldn’t have minded.” He’s hewing too close to the stuff they usually don’t talk about, but it feels important to say anyway. 

There's a noodle sticking out of Bryce's mouth, and he takes a minute before answering. "Okay, um. Thanks. I shouldn't have — not." he's not looking at Jayson's face, avoiding his gaze. "And even with what happened. I don't know why it had to be you but. That was better. That it was you doing it."  
  
Thinking back on last night, Jayson wouldn't want anyone else doing that to Bryce either, wouldn't want someone to touch Bryce like that. He knows it's as fucked up as it is possessive.  
  
"I guess it couldn't have been anyone else." Bryce pushes his bowl away and sighs, then starts in on the bacon. "Dunno why I'm so sure about that but I am."

Jayson chews another piece of bacon while he ponders that. He believes Bryce, is the thing. Once he started to feel it he didn’t want anyone but Bryce either.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t just the weird desperation and horniness. It was somehow more than that, though Jayson isn’t sure how he knows. It was about Bryce, and Bryce needing Jayson, and maybe about them needing each other.  
  
"I get it,” he says, eventually. "I know what you mean.”  
  
Bryce sighs and fingers one of the bruises on his neck. Jayson tries not to watch him do it and fails. 

"Okay." Bryce shifts in his seat and then winces. "Actually, uh, do you mind getting me Tylenol?"  
  
Jayson nods. He knows where it is. Like the towels before, he knows where most stuff in Bryce's house is. There's Tylenol in the half bath down the hall, and he grabs it, gets a water glass for Bryce when he's back in the kitchen.  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Sitting in silence, they finish eating, but it's better than before. Jayson can't help how he's staring at Bryce's bruises. Even the visible ones. A full spectrum from yellow to green to purple, some already fading, some bright sunbursts across his skin. 

Jayson doesn’t reach out to touch him, but it’s a near thing. He’s fairly confident that Bryce wouldn’t mind, but that doesn’t make it the time.  
  
Bryce’s fingers move up into his hair, pushing it off of his forehead. "I did miss it, though.”  
  
"Miss what?” Jayson asks. Bryce’s brow is furrowed, and he’s not looking away, but he not looking at Jayson, either.  
  
"Just — this. Not the frenzied sex, I guess, but you being here, cooking for me. Being around.” he sighs. "I thought maybe I’d say something next week when you came in for the ring of honor ceremony, but I probably would’ve wussed out. Zim’s gonna do the speech, not me.”  
  
"Hey,” Jayson says, putting his hand on Bryce shoulder, thumb brushing over a particularly dark hickey. When Bryce turns to look at him, Jayson bends down to kiss him. It seems as good as words — "I missed you too,” or “I'm sorry I left” — and he tries to put real feeling into it.

Bryce sighs and kisses him back, arms looping around his neck. Jayson doesn't regret trying to make one more go of it in the majors, but he's here now. He's glad he's here now.  
  
"Seriously," he says, when they break apart, finally. "You're really playing tonight?"  
  
"Might just pinch hit," Bryce says. He shrugs. "Davey knows I've been sick."  
  
"Sick," Jayson says, does air quotes around the word because he can, now, and Bryce laughs.  
  
"Are you, uh," he says, stops. "You busy today?"  
  
"Nah," Jayson says, which is the truth, and makes Bryce smile at him. “I can hang out for a while. You can tell me what to expect from Zim’s speech.”

“It’s a surprise,” Bryce says. “I can’t ruin it, he made flash cards.” 

Bryce sits and watches while Jayson cleans up. He doesn’t have to be at the park until the afternoon, and they end up on the couch watching ESPN, Bryce stretched out with his feet in Jayson’s lap.

“You could probably come to the game tonight,” Bryce says, when it’s closer to the time he’ll need to leave. 

“I’ve seen you pinch hit before.” Jayson wraps a hand around Bryce’s ankle. “Gonna wait, I think. After next week it won’t feel as weird.” 

“Okay,” Bryce says, and Jayson can tell he doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t have to yet. “Or, I guess, if you wanted to watch the game here.”

“Hm,” Jayson says, taking it as the offer it is — more time together when Bryce comes home, another evening here. It feels significant, even though it’s not anything new for them. Or wouldn’t have been, last year. “You do have a bigger TV than I do.” 

Bryce laughs, but he doesn’t say anything else. Jayson tightens his hand on Bryce’s ankle, thumb rubbing over the knob there, and Bryce shivers. It’s comfortable here, on Bryce’s couch, listening to Bryce breathe. Jayson doesn’t mind sticking around.

**Author's Note:**

> bryce did pinch hit that game (he drew a walk).


End file.
